Sehnsucht
by Takhira
Summary: Sequel to Du Hasst Mich
1. Chapter 1

How'd he get here? And where exactly was here? All the snow looked the same. He could be miles from civilization. Why couldn't he remember getting here, though?

The last thing he remembered was falling asleep during a movie and then a very weird dream.

It was strangely lucid, as if it were real. It was like one of his flashbacks. It was Lucrecia, this time, and nothing he'd ever experienced before. He could feel her touch. He could hear her voice, she sounded like she was in so much pain. The Jenova cells in her still wouldn't let her die and she wanted him to come for her, she said something about the Death Penalty being the only thing that could give her peace.

He was all for giving Lucrecia peace. He just wished he knew where he was.

He hoped he left a note or something.

How the hell was he going to get back if he had no idea why he was here in the first place? What was he going to tell Cid? 'Hi, I'm lost in the snow and I don't know why I'm here or how I got here?'

He heard a scream from above and looked up. Caves.

Despite how numb he already was, he began climbing. When he started to wonder why, the dream came back.

There she was, haggard and looked like she was almost already dead. Her clothes were in tatters, ice clung to her skin and clothes, her hair was full of knots and twigs and even rocks. One eye was scarred as they both looked at him. He felt her frozen hand on his face as she touched him. The skin peeled off as she took her hand away.

She leaned close, her frozen blue lips touched his neck.

'Help me,' she said. 'It hurts…'

It faded away and Vincent realized he had climbed all the way to one of the caves. He stood up and rubbed his hand against his cold, wet clothing. Surely he should have remembered to pack something warmer.

"Help me," he heard, from the back of the cave.

A figure moved out of the darkness and into the light. Lucrecia, just as she had appeared to him, but in the dream he never saw the thing growing out of her. Some ugly, bulbous growth had erupted from her back, oozing its way over her shoulder as if hugging her.

Vincent flexed his hand, trying to get circulation back. He just wanted to go home. He should be curled up on the couch now. He should be with Cid now. He shouldn't be wandering around in the snow. He should be…

"Lucrecia," he whispered.

"Don't come near me!" she yelled. "Don't. I just want to die. Please…"

He couldn't help but reach for her. He just wanted to touch her one last time. He just didn't want her to hate him.

Why was he here at all?

She reached out, her hand was all misshapen, covered with more Jenova growth and it was missing a finger.

She was crying. She touched his hand. She was crying so much.

'Help me.'

He just wanted to go home. He backed away and steadied the gun with his good hand.

She didn't deserve this, and he shouldn't be the one doing it.

He closed his eyes and prayed he'd hit her dead on.

The gun went off.

He was surprised his fingers weren't too numb to pull the trigger.

He opened his eyes, afraid of what he'd see; afraid he wouldn't be back home. He was suddenly very afraid. Very, very, afraid.

'Help me,' he heard, in a mocking tone. But that wasn't right. She was dead. He'd blasted her head clean off, she shouldn't be talking anyway. She was still standing. Her head was piecing itself back together. Skin crawled up, framing her face while there was nothing to support it, bones re-knit themselves out of nothing, muscles and organs intertwined upwards as the vertebrae stacked upwards. The skull pieced itself together like a jigsaw puzzle, flesh and brain and blood and everything else pulsed, growing bigger and bigger, filling the cranium. An eyeball oozed into place in the socket… It started laughing at him, an eerie sound until the tongue fully regrew. "Help me…Vincent"

Things—arms, tentacles, long extending bulbous appendages—whatever they were, they hit Vincent and blasted him straight through the wall of the cave, spraying ice and tiny pieces of rock all over the side of the hill.

It all happened before he could think, let alone limit break.

There was a second of pain and everything went black before he could see the layer of ice and snow starting to move.

He never knew how he got there. He never knew why.

Now Jenova was free.


	2. Chapter 2

Cid nearly crashed through the hospital's automatic doors, which were barely fast enough to open for him.

"Can I help you, sir?" A very tired nurse asked at the information desk. She was propping her head up with her hand.

"Where is he?"

"Sir, visiting hours are from nine to two, nine to five on Sundays. Are you drunk?"

"The fuck I am! You called me half an hour ago that Vincent was here."

"Excuse me," a doctor asked. "Are you Cid Highwind?"

"Yeah, that's me, when do I get to see him?"

The doctor sighed. "Walk with me, sir."

Cid followed the doctor, uneasy about how unreadable the doctor's face was. There was a thud behind them as the nurse's face hit the counter and she started snoring.

"Sir, Vincent Valentine was rushed here from the hospital in the Snowy Village. An old man found him out in the snow before frostbite or hypothermia set in."

"What the fuck happened?"

"We… aren't sure. He was rushed here because his injuries were quite extensive and the emergency surgery couldn't be performed up there."

"Surgery?"

"We had to patch up a lot of holes in him. Thankfully, we have the technology to repair damaged muscles these days. We had to sew up part of his liver and diaphragm. His lung, however, will probably need to be taken out entirely."

The doctor opened the door to the room. Cid felt overwhelmed. He didn't remember how he got here and his mind reeled at the sight in front of him.

Vincent lay on a hospital bed, a thin blanket over him, hooked up to numerous machines. Some machines were zigzagging lines on paper. Vincent's face. Things were beeping monotonously. Vincent's right arm was full of IV needles. There were bandages everywhere. His face was half-covered with something that Cid hoped was here to help him breathe.

"Vince?" Cid asked, his voice breaking.

"He's under heavy sedation, sir. He wouldn't be able to talk anyway with the respirator on. We plan to leave him sedated for a few days while he heals before operating on him again."

"Again?" Cid asked, his eyes never leaving Vincent. This couldn't be happening. This was impossible. This was Vincent. How the fuck had Vincent gotten himself into this situation?

"That lung of his has been too badly damaged and we need to remove it soon. He's lost his left kneecap; we managed to pull the bone shards out of his leg."

"He won't lose his leg or anything, will he?"

"No. There's no infection and a replacement joint is simple."

Shit. Another part of him replaced. That was going to be a serious blow.

"We ran a CT scan and there's no brain damage, just a minor concussion. However…"

"What do you mean 'however?'"

"Sir, he's been having spasms, nightmares, he's tried to get up, and he even woke up during the surgery and started choking. Sir, do you know what an EEG is?"

"No fucking clue," Cid said, brushing a piece of hair out of Vincent's face. Shit. And Vincent thought he felt useless.

"It monitors brain activity. Could you please take a look?"

Cid sighed and turned his attention away from Vincent. The doctor held a section of the read out towards Cid. "You run outta ink or something?"

"Sir, an EEG records brain activity. In the case of brain death, you'd see a straight line. But here the needle didn't even touch the paper. It's as if there was no brain to record activity from. We have no explanation for this and every one of his attacks has coincided with these blank marks. We had to put a tube down his throat with the respirator after he suddenly tried to swallow his tongue."

Cid said nothing. There was nothing to say. He didn't even know if he could manage to speak. He numbly fell into the chair next to the bed. For the first time in his life since he had been a young kid, he thought he was going to cry.

"Sir, there's something else I need to address. Has Mr. Valentine ever had a traumatic experience or does he have any severe phobias?"

"He kinda had a bad experience with… you could call it his last physician, I guess. Why?"

"As he was being rushed to this hospital, he woke up. He was awake for a total of seventeen minutes and managed to injure five people and destroy eighty three thousand gil worth of equipment before rolling into a fetal position, then screaming and crying. He had to be sedated."

"Shit."

"Two nurses learned the hard way that he hadn't lost any teeth. Sir, I can safely say this man suffers from anxiety."

"You're not putting him in the looney bin, if that's what you're talking about!"

"In no way did I say he was mentally disturbed. The skips in the EEG do not coincide with any part of his brain pattern, so there is no evidence it should be an indication of insanity. Besides, he's been unconscious the entire time he's had them. Now, I'm not going to rattle off a bunch of conditions at you, but I think you might want to look through some pamphlets."

"What are you going to do if he is freaky? Then what?"

"Then we'll probably just prescribe some medicines for him when he goes home. We may recommend therapy if it turns out to be serious. We'll be sure to inform you of any updates, Mr. Highwind. I'll be back with some pamphlets and his personal belongings."

"Can I borrow your phone, too?" Cid asked, sniffling.

"Of course. And sir, there's no smoking," the doctor said, and left the room.

There was nothing Cid could do. There certainly wasn't anything he could say. Feeling utterly helpless, he squeezed Vincent's arm, wishing he'd react.


	3. Chapter 3

"Cid? Cid?" Shera asked, wandering into the kitchen. "Cid, what's that noise?"

She flipped the lights on. No Cid.

"Cid, you left the door open. And the phone's off the hook," she said, mostly to herself. At least she has answered her own question about the noise. She hung the phone back up and it rang immediately. "Hello?"

"Shera?" It was Cid, he sounded like he was in pain. He hadn't decided to go flying after five beers, had he? "Shera, I've been trying to contact you for an hour."

"You left the phone off the hook," she said, failing to suppress a yawn.

"I need you to get over here."

"Where's 'here' Cid?"

"The hospital."

"Cid, it's five in the morning, what the hell are you doing calling from the hospital?"

"They found Vincent."

Shera dropped the phone and ran to get dressed. A few minutes later she ran out the door, barely pausing to hang up the phone.


	4. Chapter 4

The beeping annoyed him. Everything had to fucking beep all the time. Then there was the scratching of the needles on paper. He didn't care what anyone thought, he could hear it. And it drove him nuts. The worst part, other than seeing Vincent connected to a bunch of wires and machines, was the damn ventilator. It made too much noise, and the sound alone made him want to retch. It all made him feel too alone, too small and weak and helpless.

His eyes hurt from crying and lack of sleep. He didn't want to see Vincent like this, but every time he closed his eyes, he remembered waking up and he was gone.

He clung to the back of the chair with one hand, Vincent's hand with his other.

Life sucked.

There was a knock at the door and he didn't feel like answering. The doctor would come in anyway.

The door opened.

"Cid?"

"Shera…" Cid completely broke down, sobbing on the back of the chair. "I can't do this. I can't." He didn't notice her arms were around him. "He's gonna make it, but they don't know what happened or what's going on. They've got him on an EEG and an EKG and all they could do was give me some damn pamphlets on PTSD and I hope I never hear another abbreviation in my life."

"Oh God, Cid. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Shera said. Where was that ability to say something and make it better? He'd hated her after ruining the rocket launch, but she kept saying stuff. She kept making it better. It didn't justify anything, it just kept them as friends. He never kicked her out of the house. He never stopped thinking she was a good friend. Why couldn't she say stuff like that now? "He's going to survive, Cid. It'll be okay, he'll survive."

That was it. He'd survive. He didn't want survive. He wanted Vincent to wake up. He wanted him to talk to him and tell him there was nothing wrong with him and that it would never happen again. He wanted Vincent back. Preferably in his arms where he'd never let anything else happen to him.

But Vincent just lay there attached to the beeping, annoying machines. He wasn't even breathing on his own, he needed that damn machine. It was as if Vincent were dead and they were just pretending he was alive.

Just looking at him made Cid feel scared.

What Vincent must be going through…

And all this time he'd kept telling Vincent to cheer up and forget about things and pretend they never happened. Just smile and think it wasn't there.

This was what he'd gone through. This was the kind of torture Vincent had known thirty years ago before being locked away in a box. All these machines and needles and nothing to stop it and no one to help.

Vincent was right. Life really was shit.


	5. Chapter 5

After seeing Vincent have a real attack -bolting upright, eyes wide open but not seeing anything, reaching for his own neck, and then just suddenly stopping- Shera finally convinced Cid that there was nothing he could do. She still had to practically drag him out of the room and back home; persuading him to get some sleep was another thing entirely.

Despite the fact that he was the boss, Cid decided to take time off from his job. He was far too shaken up about Vincent to be trusted to fly, and he paid very little attention when people tried to ask him questions. Needless to say, it was bad for company morale, even when Shera took over for Cid. It didn't make them worry any less about their boss, or about Vincent.

Shera had remembered to bring the surviving belongings home with her. Only his shoes and his wallet; the Death Penalty hadn't been found and Vincent's clothes had all been cut off of him by the paramedics.

Cid had spent the night staring at a picture in Vincent's wallet until he finally fell asleep. "I never thought he'd kept this," he had mumbled. The picture had been from Vincent's birthday, they'd all celebrated it at the Gold Saucer, from before he'd come back. It was Cid, with a goofy expression on his face and giving the camera in the booth the peace sign. Vincent was trying to squirm out of Cid's headlock, but he was unmistakably smiling.

Ignoring Shera's protests that there was nothing he could do and he was only going to make himself miserable, he went back to see Vincent the next day.

Cid stopped in the doorway of the room upon seeing someone else inside. It was definitely no doctor.

"Who the fuck are-oh, it's you, Reeve. Sorry."

"Still think of me as Cait?" Reeve asked, gently holding Vincent's limp hand. "I was there at his birthday."

"…Uh, yeah. I wasn't really paying attention at the time."

"I noticed."

"This isn't some publicity stunt, is it?" Cid asked. Shera did say she had called everybody about what happened, but he hadn't expected anyone else to show up, let alone someone straight from Midgar, let alone Reeve. It seemed rather suspicious.

"No, it's me visiting a friend in a time of need."

"You might have at least waited until he was conscious if you didn't want to send him a card."

"I was talking about you."

"Me? What's wrong with me?"

"Other than the fact that you broke a vending machine in a fit of rage, nothing. I said 'need,' Highwind."

"It was already broken," Cid mumbled.

"He certainly seems to be an expert at getting himself into disasters." Reeve started, then sighed, not letting go of Vincent's hand. "The police found his gun. They've practically figured out everything: speed, projectile, trajectory, angle … everything except why he was there in the first place. Until they analyzed the blood."

"Blood?" Cid asked, sitting on the chair. It seemed to be one of those speeches.

"There was a large stain of blood, along with… some other pieces of a human body. At first they were very suspicious about him until the results came back. The DNA isn't on any recent record and they went back through the files of the last five years. They did find heavy amounts of Jenova cells in it, though.

"You're friend has gone from potential murder suspect to harbinger of doom and changed a small town murder mystery into a worldwide manhunt. All while unconscious.

"Neither the police, nor the doctors want the information released to the public yet."

"Yeah, sounds like them."

"And I went through the paperwork and I'm paying for his medical insurance."

"That sound—what the hell?"

"I've already cost you one life. I'm going to do my best to save this one," Reeve said, placing Vincent's hand down on the bed. He turned to leave. "I'm tired of withholding information. I thought you needed to know about this. Both of you."


	6. Chapter 6

Vincent screamed and clutched his side, balling up and crying from the pain. He had finally woken up.

He was acutely aware of the wires attached to pads on his chest and on his forehead.

He was covered in bandages and machines and tubes and wires and gauze. Where the hell was he? He tried not to vomit, everything reminding him of the time he spent in Hojo's lab and the nightmares—real and imaginary—he'd had there.

A nurse ran into the room and reached for him, then stopped, her fingers six inches from his face. "You're not going to bite me, are you?"

"It hurts!" was all Vincent could reply. He continued sobbing.

"Here," she said, pushing a wire connected to a button-switch into his hand. "Push that when you're in pain. Its okay. The morphine will make the pain stop."

"I don't want it," he cried.

"How about your friend? He's been worried sick over you. Would you like me to let him in?"

Vincent nodded, winced at the pain while tears streaking his face.

The nurse opened the door. He could hear her saying something all the way across the room, though he couldn't make it out. It hurt too much. The machines were too loud.

He had no idea he'd been moved to another room. He had no idea the panic and confusion going through Cid's head while trying to get a doctor to tell him where he was. When the answer came it was that he was in surgery again.

Even if he didn't know about any of it, he wasn't surprised to see Cid run through the room so fast he nearly knocked the nurse over.

"Vincent," Cid said, panting slightly.

"Oww."

"Here, take the morphine. It's okay, Vince. It's okay," Cid said as soothingly as he knew how. He pulled up a chair and sat in it backwards. "Please, it's okay." Cid wrapped his hand around Vincent's, the button still in the hand.

"No," Vincent sobbed, the only thing keeping him from weakly throwing it away was Cid's hand around his. As gently as Cid held his hand, it was too strong for Vincent's weakened state. "I hate it. I hate it. I hate the way it feels. It's… I can't move, I can't feel anything. The room spins. I've spent years on these drugs, I hate them. I don't want to take them ever again!" Vincent buried his face in the pillow and cried worse than before.

Cid said nothing. He took the button from Vincent's hand and clicked it once. He set it down and put his hand on Vincent's neck, stroking the sweat soaked and tangled hair. He did nothing else until Vincent stopped crying.

Vincent looked up from his wet pillow. "You don't hate me, do you, Cid?"

"I don't hate you," Cid whispered. "I was kinda pissed at first when you left, but then I was just worried. I'm not mad at you at all. I can't blame you for this Jenova thing, and you had better not blame yourself. You just get better, you hear?"

"I just want to go home. I don't want them to put me away. I don't want to be here." Vincent had never been to a hospital since he was born. Even when he was a Turk, the worst he'd ever suffered was a concussion or he'd wake up and professor Gast or Hojo had bandaged him up and all he had was a dull ache. That had been why he'd gotten the notes. He didn't want to be cut up without the doctors knowing how his body would react. He'd thought he'd be in pain, but nothing like this. He thought he'd sleep though it all and probably leave the same day. He'd never even seen someone in a hospital save for his friend's wife after she had given birth. The only time he'd ever felt remotely like this was when the only people who knew where he was were Hojo and any other experiments of his; only one of them was able to make the pain go away and he never seemed too concerned about it.

"You're not going anywhere. Not until they patch up that knee of yours. They want to make sure you can walk out on your own."

"No!" Vincent cried, suddenly grabbing Cid's hand with all the strength he had—needless to say it wasn't much. He didn't care what Cid had just said. He didn't believe it. "No. You can' let them. Please don't let them."

"Vince, you need it. You won't be able to walk if they don't operate."

"I don't care. I don't care if my leg turns green and rots, don't let them take it off."

"Vince, what the fuck is up with you?" Cid asked, his hand going to the button again.

"No! No, don't!"

Cid took Vincent's hand in his own two. "Vincent, you're not going to lose your leg. They promised me you wouldn't."

"It hurts. It hurts just like last time."

"Last time?"

"Cid, I already lost my arm. It was all my fault too."

"It fucking as hell wasn't."

"It was. I did it to myself. I don't want to lose my leg. Please don't let them."

"Vincent, you lost your fucking kneecap. They're going to give you a new one. You'll be fine. Everything they're going to replace will be on the inside. It'll be exactly the same and it'll look it too."

"Cid…" Vincent whispered, and then started coughing.

Cid said nothing as he propped him upright, making it easier for Vincent to breathe, rubbing his back and watching helplessly as Vincent's fit continued. Eventually the coughing gave way to deep, dry breaths on the verge of crying again.

"Your throat's dry. I'll go get you some water."

"No," Vincent whispered, gripping Cid's shirt and shaking his head. "Please don't go. I'm scared."

Cid couldn't help smiling. He took Vincent's hand off his shirt and stood up. Still Holding Vincent's hand, he turned the chair the right way around and sat back down. He moved the chair as close to the bed as he could possibly get it. He finally let go of Vincent's hand. He reached around Vincent's back, it took him a few tries to snake around and wrap his hand around Vincent's side. Everywhere hurt for Vincent, despite the morphine, one touch made him flinch and whimper.

Cid pulled Vincent as far into his lap as the IV's and wires would allow.

Vincent gripped Cid's shirt, afraid of waking up and never seeing him again, and wanting to hold something, anything but the cold, stained blanket or his pained ribs.

Cid looped the wire of the morphine machine around him and eased the button into Vincent's hand, not disturbing Vincent's grip on his dirty shirt. He hadn't changed it for days.

He patted Vincent's hand and wrapped his arms around Vincent's back.

The noises of the machines seemed to fade away, drowned in the sound of calm heartbeats and gentle breathing, occasionally interrupted by the sound of Vincent clicking the button in his hand.

Cid said nothing. He just marveled at how good it felt to have Vincent back in his arms, even like this. He just stroked his hands up and down Vincent's back, even after Vincent had fallen asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Vincent's eye blinked open. He was still in the hospital. There were still needles and tubes in him. There were still bandages on him and machines hooked up to him. He couldn't feel his legs, save for the pain. The catheter was still there.

He closed his eye and managed to slowly move his right leg. It felt as heavy as concrete and the few times he felt the bed sheets, they stung like ice.

He met resistance and moved his foot up and down against it. It was slow and it took the rest of his body a long time to wake up. Finally, he discerned cold flesh, not cold metal, not cold sheets and nothing on them. His nerves in his left leg were waking up slightly as well, though the feeling was duller.

Vincent opened both eyes and sat up slightly.

There was no one here. No nurse. No doctor. No Cid. No Shera. No one.

Sitting up so fast, despite how little he had actually moved, made the blood rush to his head and he was nauseated. He could smell the vomit everywhere now. He had been asleep and cleaned up, but he could feel it sting his face. He could still taste it and feel how burned his throat was. The blanket had been changed at least once and the bed and pillow were stained. He could feel it on his teeth.

Trying to hold back his stomach spasms, he swatted the dirty pillow off the bed, feeling stupid as he noted Hojo had done a better job at cleaning someone up.

His stomach refused to be ignored and he vomited over the side of the bed and on to the floor. He wanted to wipe the filth away, but that would mean both his hand and face would be dirty. What else was there? The blanket? He was freezing cold as it was.

He whimpered, on the verge of tears.

There was another smell, and he didn't like this one either. Antiseptic had been used to clean the floor, ironically to cover up the smell of vomit only to have the reverse happen. Now that he could smell it, the powerful chemicals stinging his nose, he felt like throwing up again.

He hadn't even eaten anything.

He looked to his side. There were still the machines. It was bad enough that he wasn't wearing any real clothes, was covered with gauze and had tubes in him.

There were wires connected to sticky pads on his temples and on his chest. He knew they were monitoring his brain and heart, but why… what was wrong with him? What was wrong with his head? What was wrong with his heart?

This was Hojo's doing, wasn't it? He hadn't just been added to, had he? His arm wasn't the only thing making him less than whole, there was something deficient about him, wasn't there?

Were they even looking at the notes? Maybe the notes didn't help. Maybe they couldn't understand them either. Maybe they still didn't know what was wrong with him even with the notes. Maybe… maybe they wanted to try tests on him too.

He looked away and saw the IVs. There were so many. He knew the milky one had to be nutrients to keep him hydrated after surgery. There was a small one with blood in it. What were the others for? Why wasn't he ever told what was happening to him? Why did he have to wake up drugged and drooling and abandoned to wonder at wires and tubes and needles like some lab rat or rabid dog?

He cringed, cowering back onto the bed.

His hand curled around something soft and fuzzy. Looking down, he saw a small stuffed toy resembling a cave mog. There was a tiny card tied on it with ribbons.

He opened the card slowly, hating the fact that he was shaking and his vision was swirling slightly. He had to blink and concentrated to make out the words.

It was from Marlene, and Barret had signed it too.

He looked up, away from the machines and the IVs.

There was a table along the wall. He couldn't tell how far away it was because the whole room kept stretching back and forth in different directions. The table was covered mostly in postcards and folded cards from some shiny glittery store or another. There was a comic book, as well as a vase with a few yellow roses. He wished he could smell them.

Everything went black. He was wide awake and he knew he hadn't blinked. What the he—

The room was bac—

Blackness—

It didn't last—

Blackness again—

Everything flickered back and forth between vision and nothingness, like a television screen with a bad signal. On and off, on and off, on and off. Flicker. Flicker, flicker.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe when it happened, like living in a strobe light.

Flicker.

On.

Off.

Room.

Blackness.

Flicker.

There was a pause long enough for him to take a breath.

It flickered again and left.

He was alone in the room long enough to blink.

Nurses ran into the room.

There was a hand on his forehead. There was a paper towel on his face, finally cleaning him up.

Someone was checking the EEG.

Someone was removing the small, now empty, blood transfusion. It wasn't replaced.

He managed to smile.

The nurses weren't the only ones relieved all he had suffered this time was a severe case of the hiccups, which he was hardly aware of.

Then things began to blur.

There were hands all over him. Hands, white sleeves, touching him, cleaning him.

He didn't want the hands near him.

He didn't want anyone touching him.

He wasn't going back.

Before he started screaming, he tasted blood. And fingers.


	8. Chapter 8

Seeing Vincent awake had caused a huge change in Cid's mood. He got the crew together and got them working again. He'd actually got them off the ground and into the air.

They had jobs to do and he was glad to be working again.

Cid was still wary, but he was finally in the mood to get back to life. It was easier to leave Shera to take care of the numbers as well as Vincent now that Cid had actually had a chance to talk to him.

Things would go the way he'd planned now. He'd get Vincent a job on the plane soon. Hell, he'd teach Vincent how to fly it. How often he'd let him he still wasn't sure about, it was still his baby, after all.

The phone rang.

"Goddamnit!" he swore.

The phone had been installed by Shera for Cid to call her in case he went joyriding in the middle of the night and crashed, or at least would be late for dinner. Usually Cid just used it to remind Shera to pick up more beer.

"This had better be about long distance," he said.

"Cid, what is it with this guy and biting people?"

"Shit. What happened? What are the doctors doing? They even think of putting him away and I want you to kick 'em right in the—"

"He had another attack."

"Panic or what?"

"Both, actually. The EEG kept blipping, as if Jenova kept slipping or something, like it wasn't working on his head anymore. The doctor can explain it better, but it's mostly a bunch of technical jargon you don't want to hear."

"Damn right I don't."

"The doctors want to put him on an SSRI."

"That's a television network, right?"

"It's a long term antidepressant. They've been thinking of putting him on it since he got here. They've got him on diazepam at the moment. Kinda a kick in the right direction for his head. They put him on another breathing tube. His breathing was a bit shallow while on the drugs. It's a little one, not like before."

"Has he said anything?"

"Coherently? Not much. He just seems to drool in his sleep mostly. He called me Aeris once, and the doctor Tifa. And he says he loves you. Five times in the last two hours."

"Shera! Keep it down. Hey, stop laughing guys. Hands on the controls, mister!"

"The doctors are worried that he's not eating and won't take the painkillers without someone else there. He doesn't even want to sleep. Oh, and you're going to pick up Cloud."

"I'm what?"

"He was awake for a little bit. Didn't say much, but he insisted on talking to Cloud. In person. Privately. After that, the drugs kicked in."

"That it?"

"I got him to eat half a popsicle. Didn't stay down though."

"Okay. Thanks Shera."

"I'll tell you if anything else happens."

"I don't have to let Cloud drive, do I?"


	9. Chapter 9

He wouldn't throw up. He wouldn't throw up.

His face contorted and he leaned over the side of the bed and threw up as someone came into the room.

He'd already thrown up the popsicle. What was he throwing up now, his spleen?

"Yeah, that's what I think of these guys too," Cloud said.

Cloud was here. Oh good, he could watch him vomit on himself.

"Uh… how are you feeling?" Cloud, an utter goofball. Good old Cloud.

"Certifiable," Vincent said. "You have to help me. I can't go back there. She's on the loose. And I don't understand half the stuff in my head!"

"Vincent, calm down. You're being hysterical." Cloud looked at the IV's, hoping there was something for Vincent to adjust his pain medication. There weren't any. Just a bunch of bags with complicated names and even more complicated instructions.

"I'm not insane, not about this. Please, Cloud. You have to kill her."

"Kill who? I'm not killing anybody without a damn good reason. That isn't a weedwhacker on my back."

"She wants to kill me."

"Well, that seemed kinda obvious, you ending up in the hospital and all. Who are you talking about? Look, start over."

"I'm not insane, Cloud."

"Fine. You're not insane. You're just not making sense."

"I shot Lucrecia." Vincent groaned. "I'm sorry, it's hard to stay awake. I think Jenova's trying to kill me now."

"What do you mean you shot Lucrecia?"

Vincent took a deep breath through the tube up his nose. "I don't have any clue how I got there. There was just some sort of dream and then I'm in the snow and Lucrecia's asking me to help her. She just wanted to die and I had my gun and I didn't know how I got there. I just wanted to help her. I thought maybe everything would be okay if I helped her. I thought maybe I'd go back home. She said she just wanted to die and needed my help." He shook his head slightly, blinking away his drowsiness for a few more minutes. "I shot her. I finally gave her what she wanted. Me.

"Cloud, I set Jenova free."

"Vincent. This isn't your fault."

"Everyone keeps saying that, but she's still out there. I don't want to get you killed, but you're the only person I know—"

"I understand. Don't worry. You get some sleep and stop worrying about it."

Vincent closed his eyes and sighed. He knew it was a losing battle against the drugs. He learned that lesson long ago. "Please, don't tell him," he mumbled before he, effectively, passed out.

Cloud didn't need that one explained. He wouldn't tell Cid. But that meant he couldn't take him along. That was understandable. He couldn't really take Cid away from Vincent at a time like this, and even if he could, he couldn't risk what might happen to Vincent if something happened to Cid.

That did create a problem. Vincent and Cid had been the ones he took with him everywhere until the end. The others were nowhere near as strong.

"I wonder if he's going to finish this," Cloud said, checking out the tray of hospital food someone had left for Vincent.


	10. Chapter 10

Tifa was in the middle of brushing Vincent's hair when he woke up. Truly woke up. He had opened his eyes and blinked two times in the day, but had gone straight back to sleep after that. He had rattled off a few things, one sentence blurring into another and that one blurring into a third until he trailed off, never having made any sense.

She helped him sit up and went back to gently stroking the hairbrush through his hair, making little progress, but preferring that to accidentally pulling and hurting Vincent.

"She said no one's going anywhere for a while until she got to see you. Conscious, I mean," Cloud said, reading Vincent's comic.

"How are you feeling, Vincent?" Tifa asked, exchanging the brush for a wet washcloth.

"Woozy," Vincent answered, putting his hand on his face. Drool. Definitely not great, but better than having thrown up on himself, again. Especially while Cloud and Tifa were here.

Tifa handed him the washcloth.

"Thank you," he said, taking the washcloth and thoroughly wiped away sweat, bile and saliva.

"Here, try eating something," Tifa said, placing a tray in front of him and taking back the washcloth. "It'll make you feel better."

"I'll just throw it up."

"It'll still make you feel better. You're not getting out of here without eating something, Vincent."

Vincent took a while to look at the food in front of him. Cereal, tuna, broth, a melting popsicle, milk, a glass of water, a cookie that looked like it was made of compressed dust.

"You okay?" Cloud asked as Vincent put his hand on his head as if he were having a migraine.

Vincent's vision was swimming, as usual. Moving, wobbling food didn't look very appetizing. The smells were getting to him again. "I'll be fine. Give me a minute." Having something up his nose wasn't making him any hungrier.

He wouldn't be getting out of here without eating. If he kept being afraid and refusing the hospital's horrid food, they'd no doubt use a feeding tube. He'd had one of those. God, he wished he had been unconscious for it. He doubted Hojo would have wanted it that way. Soon after every operation, Hojo would stop the IVs without telling him, usually while he was asleep or too drugged to notice.

The next day—or something like that—he'd have a tray of mush and some water thrust in front of him, warned that it was either this or a feeding tube. Hojo wouldn't leave the room until Vincent started eating or shoved the tray away in disgust. He would never say anything as he left, leaving Vincent with the tray, whether he ate anything or not.

It was always some sort of mush that tasted like wet cardboard and paste, from the texture and color he might not have been too far off.

Vincent picked up the fork—Hojo had never given him utensils, he didn't want to give Vincent such a luxury, or he thought he'd try to kill himself with it—and stabbed the tuna with it. He lifted it up and kept trying to ignore his mind's warning that it had to have at least one drug, maybe two, in it.

He swallowed. At this rate, he'd be done in a week.

It was better than cardboard. It was better than pushing his hand into a pile of mush and licking it off his filthy, dirty fingers that were never washed unless they were bleeding. He still didn't feel like eating.

"Why does he get tuna?" Cloud asked, earning himself a jab in the ribs from Tifa with her elbow. "Ow. He wasn't doing anything with it. They were going to bring him a new one anyway."

Vincent managed another small bite.

"Hey, if you don't want that," Cloud started, flinching in anticipation of another hit. Tifa was ready to give him one, but waited for him to finish his sentence. "I have a candy bar in my pack."

Tifa punched him anyway. "Cloud, he can't have that. He's on a special diet."

"Why is Vincent on a diet? I thought he needed to gain weight."

Tifa was about to punch him again, but decided against it. "He can't have any chocolate. The doctors told you he wasn't going to be allowed any caffeine or alcohol."

"So no fun stuff. Ow! Tifa!"

Vincent set the fork down.

"I'm sorry," Cloud said pathetically.

"No. I'm fine. I just… I don't feel like eating at the moment. Could you guys do something for me?"


	11. Chapter 11

"Ah, shut up about yer damn vending machines already!" Cid yelled, passing a repairman in the hall. "SAME TO YOU! Yer fixing the fucking thing wrong anyw—" Cid skidded to a stop as he turned down the hall toward Vincent's room. "Holy fuck," he managed after a minute, his unlit cigarette falling out of his mouth.

Across the hallway, Cloud stood holding an IV rack, a mix between happy concern and utter bafflement on his face. The IVs were connected to none other than Vincent Valentine, who seemed to be concentrating very hard on some sort of walk that consisted of taking two steps and then falling backwards into Tifa's arms.

"And I thought leaving you with these guys would be a disaster," Cid said, making his way to them and taking Vincent from Tifa. "Here, let someone more your height help."

"I swear, Vincent, you weigh less than I do," Tifa said, smiling.

"How much is that?" Cloud asked, slowly following Vincent with the rack. "Ow! Tifa, I meant him."

"This isn't some sort of escape plan, is it?" Cid joked.

"I got Tifa to talk to the doctors. They took me off those damned machines."

"About fucking time. Fuck, Vince, it's great to see you smiling again."

"They took the catheter out too."

"Okay, change of subject!" Cid yelled, Cloud and Tifa laughing at him.

"I take it you're Mr. Valentine," a soft voice said behind them. Everyone turned to see a short black woman dressed in jeans and a loose dress shirt. No one recognized her.

"Hey, piss off, will ya?" Cid said, giving her the finger. "Just leave him alone for a minute."

"Cid, be nice, I can't visit you in jail when I'm like this," Vincent said, steadying himself on Cid's shoulder.

"I'm Dr. Hayes," she said, holding her hand out for a handshake.

Vincent fell against Cid, who handed him to Tifa again.

"Look, you," Cid yelled, pointing his finger at her. "He may be too damn terrified of you, but I got something to complain about how you're running this fucking place! It's like some sort of kennel."

"Sir, before you begin, I'm not his physician," she said calmly, not backing away.

"Then who the hell are you?"

"I'm going to be his psychiatrist. Sir—"

"Psychiatrist! He doesn't need a psychiatrist, he's fucking fine! You people better knock off the shit about him bein' some sort of loony right now or I'm going to pop you one right in the—"

"Sir, he's bitten four people and chewed on his IVs in an attempt to take them out."

Cid snarled.

"Cid…" Vincent said, attempting his footing again.

"Don't listen to a word this quack says, Vincent! I'm not going to let her take you anywhere, you hear me? Don't worry; I won't even let her fucking touch you. You don't need a damn psychiatrist—"

"You must be Cid Highwind."

"Who the fuck else would I be? And no jokes about my name, I like it."

Dr. Hayes smiled. "Mr. Valentine is very lucky to have someone so concerned over him, especially at a time like this. I just wanted to greet him now that he's up and walking and congratulate him on his progress. I also wanted to inform him that he has an appointment with me scheduled before he leaves." Dr. Hayes smiled at Vincent, then turned and left.

"Hey, I'm not done yelling at you yet!" Cid screamed after her.

"I want to go back to my room now," Vincent said quietly.

Tifa and Cloud silently lead Vincent back to his room.

Cid stood there for a moment and swore under his breath, then followed. "Fuck, I'm sorry," Cid said.

"I'm tired," Vincent said, not making eye contact with any of them.

No one said anything more as they made it to the room until Tifa had to help Vincent climb into bed.

"How's that knee of yours?" Cid asked, feeling useless again.

"Hurts like fuck," Vincent answered as Tifa put the blanket over him.

"You want me to get you anything, hate to think of you being stuck here all day with nothing to eat but this crap. Hell, I went to school and they served better stuff."

"I like it," Cloud said.

"I'd rather just have some clothes. At least some underwear," Vincent said.

Tifa punched Cloud for giggling slightly.

"At least he didn't offer me any," Vincent said, smiling as everyone laughed. "Some pants would be nice too, if the buckles wouldn't hurt so much over the incisions."

"I'll see what I can do. Shera ain't a shopping person, and usually I'd only buy someone else clothes at gunpoint."

"I—don't hit me Tifa—can do it," Cloud said. "I bought a dress with Aeris once."

"Weren't you the once wearing the dress?" Vincent asked sleepily. He groaned, trying to stay awake.

"Close enough," Cloud argued.

"I gotta get back to the guys. We just came to pick up some cargo and I thought I'd visit. You gonna be okay?"

"I just want to sleep now," Vincent mumbled, his eyelids drooping.

"I'm going to finish on your hair before we leave, is that okay?" Tifa asked as Vincent closed his eyes and lay down against the pillow. He managed to nod slightly.

Cid waved to them and left, telling them he needed to find someone to yell at when he got off work.

"Hey, Tifa," Cloud whispered. "What's a catheter?"

Vincent smiled slightly as he dozed.

"Ow."


	12. Chapter 12

Vincent woke up the next day, some time in the afternoon. If he could help it, he wouldn't go to sleep for a week once he got out of here.

He looked around. He was always very alert every time he noticed he wasn't out of the hospital.

No more machines, that was good. There were still the IVs, though. They left ugly little black marks on his wrists. There were even more from the other IVs that had been taken out, plus some of the needles had to be put back in.

He had told them they must have slipped every time they asked him, but he knew they were aware that he'd tried to pull them out with his teeth.

Damn drugs. He was sleeping half the day, spitting up all his food, constantly dizzy, slurring his speech half the time and he'd have times where he'd suddenly forget where he was. And they were supposed to make him feel better.

At least he wasn't alone. Sort of. Shera was asleep in the chair next to him. There was an open book of crosswords on top of an open novel on top of diagnostics printouts. At least she hadn't been bored.

There was a paper bag next to her, probably clothes from Cloud.

_Please don't let it be a dress_, Vincent though to himself. _God I'm was bored_, he thought, lying back down.

Now it wasn't just painful to lie there with nothing to do but throw up and sleep, but it was damn tedious. What was preventing him from throwing up or sleeping at home? Hell, he could be just as bored anywhere else.

The door opened and he sat up immediately.

It was a nurse.

"I hear you've been walking around lately. That's wonderful," she said cheerily, despite the fact that she had bandages on her fingers. "You're getting out in two days, isn't that exciting?"

_No, it sounds rather boring_, Vincent thought.

"Would you like some help up to use the bathroom? You're friend left you some nice new clothes, maybe you'd like to put them on."

"Yeah…" Vincent managed.

"Dr. Hayes asked me to give you some paperwork to look over and sign. I'll just leave it here on the table, is that all right?"

"Is there anyway I can get out of it?" Vincent asked.

"I'm sorry. The insurance company said they wanted a diagnosis. I'm afraid it's mandatory."

Vincent didn't say anything to her after that.

The nurse stayed cheery, even gave him his privacy while he was in the bathroom and changed, but with no way out of a meeting with a psychiatrist, he really didn't feel like talking to her anymore. He didn't feel like talking to anyone, so he didn't.

He didn't look at the paperwork until the next day, and he had trouble sleeping, despite the fact that Shera was there with him, and despite the drugs.

Vincent just read the document over and over when he was brave enough to look at it. It was nothing more than a long letter informing him of the rules during therapy; the clauses about needing the insurance notified and filed were crossed out. His finger lingered over the part about the therapist not having any sort of relations with him.

He was so engrossed with looking it over again and again, trying to find some article the ensured him it wouldn't be scary that he didn't notice Shera.

She had promised Cid to stay with Vincent, be with him so he'd eat and try to get some sleep, maybe even keep from biting people. Until he'd become absorbed in reading and rereading about his imminent therapy, he had calmed down and cheered up slightly when there was someone else with him.

"I'll be right back, I need to use the bathroom," she said.

He didn't react. He didn't notice her taking the PHS off the table and glancing over at what he was reading. He didn't even seem to notice it was his PHS.

Shera quietly made her way out into the hallway and dialed the phone number she'd seen before she forgot it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Dr. Hayes?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"This is Shera—"

"I'm sorry ma'am. I'm not really allowed to divulge any information to you. I haven't even talked to Mr. Valentine, yet. I'm still waiting for him to fill out the papers."

"That's what I'm calling you about."

"If there are any adjustments he'd like made, I need to speak with him personally."

"No. You see… He doesn't want to sign it. It's—he's so scared. Please, he just wants to go home. He's been through so much. You have absolutely no idea. Isn't there someway—"

"Ma'am?"

"Can't you just talk to him over the phone? He doesn't want to see any more doctors; he doesn't like it here. Maybe you can talk to the insurance company. Please, he's been hurt enough—"

"Ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"I understand. Is he awake?"

"Yes. He's reading it as we speak."

"May I please speak to him?"

"… Yeah. Okay."

"Vincent?" Shera asked, going back to the room. He hadn't changed, save for turning the page. "Would you like to talk to Dr. Hayes about this? Vincent?"

He turned to her, silently dropping the papers on the bed, and took the phone.

"Mr. Valentine?"

Vincent made a small scared noise.

"Mr. Valentine, I haven't received the papers, have you signed them?"

"…No."

"Is there an article you don't agree with?"

"…No. Not really."

"Is there some sort of concern you'd like to address with me before you sign the papers?"

There was a minute of quiet from Vincent before he answered. "It… I just want to go home. Please. I don't want to go anywhere." As quiet as he was, Dr, Hayes could tell he was crying. The very idea of going to a single therapy session scared him, that was obvious to everyone.

"Mr. Valentine, it's all right. I'm just going to talk to you in an unlocked, borrowed office here at the hospital. You can go home when we're through."

"I can?"

"Yes. All the insurance company wants is a diagnosis. We're just going to sit down and talk. You don't have to answer any questions you don't want to. Any other concerns before you sign the papers?"

"No."

"Good. Now, I need those signed before we can do anything, Mr. Valentine."

She hung up and he set the phone on the bed. He smiled; ignoring Shera putting the phone back on the table.

"Do you have a pen, Shera?" he asked. He was going to go home.


	13. Chapter 13

He'd had his medications; they had changed his bandages and taken all the tubes out. A nurse helped him up off the bed and took the needles out of his arm and helped him change. Mostly he managed to dress himself with little help and her biggest task was tying the drawstring on his pants for him.

The nurse grabbed all his things and followed him into the hallway, where Shera was nodding attentively, and Cid looked like he was nodding off as the doctor reciting instructions to them.

"…No caffeine. No alcohol. Definitely no smoking near him, Mr. Highwind."

"Whatever," Cid muttered, using enough self-control and being distracted enough not to flip off the doctor.

"Make sure he goes to bed at the same time. Turn off the lights while he's asleep and keep them on while he's awake…"

Cid waved as Dr. Hayes greeted Vincent and they walked down the hall. He couldn't help noticing how scared Vincent looked. And the hospital had told them they couldn't reattach his arm until he got home because he was trying to pull the IVs out. He was going to kill whoever decided to put him through this therapy crap. If they thought Vince was nuts, it was because they were sticking him with needles and dragging him off to a shrink. Any idiot could see that. Hell, Cloud wouldn't have taken too long to figure it out.

The PHS rang in the bag of Vincent's stuff. Cid ignored Shera as she insisted she could answer it and grabbed it before she could touch it. "HELLO? Oh, hi. I was just thinking of you…. Reeve."


	14. Chapter 14

"It's all right, Mr. Valentine. No one's going to hurt you," Dr. Hayes said, closing the door. "I'm not even allowed to touch you without your permission. Please, sit down and I can explain things."

Vincent looked around, wondering where he'd feel safest. There was a couch by the wall and chairs in front of a desk. He opted for the couch.

"I'm going to ask you some questions, Mr. Valentine. You're free to refuse to answer any of them, I just want you to answer me honestly if you do," she said, sitting in a chair. "You're free to ask any of your own questions, of course. I'm also going to give you a few pamphlets to read at the end of the session, it's nothing horrible, just some things to help you with your panic attacks. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Vincent didn't move. He just wished he'd had some socks, his feet were suddenly very cold in the office, which suddenly seemed cramped.

"Mr. Valentine, I can safely say, purely from what the doctors have observed, you have PTSD. Do you know what that is?"

Vincent nodded.

"What I have here, Mr. Valentine, is a checklist of symptoms you display. Would you rather fill this out yourself?"

Vincent nodded and she handed the clipboard to her. He read it carefully and checked off a few more things, then handed it back. "I'm not insane, am I?"

"What? No. No, Mr. Valentine, you are not insane. This is a form of anxiety, not insanity. Now, I've read the notes your friend mailed in with your insurance. You must have been very concerned to retrieve things like that, Mr. Valentine. Especially to get the entire collection of them. However, there is something I don't understand. Are you comfortable talking about things before all that happened?"

"What are you writing down?"

"I'm sorry, does it bother you that I'm taking down notes?"

"I don't want any more notes on me."

"That's fine. I'll stop," she said, throwing her notes in the trash.

"I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize, Mr. Valentine. You're free to request it. Mr. Valentine, can you tell me who Lucrecia is?"

"Lucrecia…" he whispered, then broke down sporadically in tears. "I killed her! I killed Lucrecia! She asked me to, and all I wanted was to go home and she said she was in pain. I don't know how I got there. There was just this dream and I'm in the snow and she kept asking me to. I couldn't help it; I just wanted to make her happy.

"I shot her, and then… and then… and then she healed, except it wasn't her anymore. I killed Lucrecia and then she was Jenova and now… and now… she wants to kill me. Please don't put me away. I'm not insane. You said so. And Cid.

"I don't want to go anywhere, I just want to go home. I just had this dream and she asked me to. She was in pain, please believe me. I didn't know Jenova would survive, I didn't know she'd try to kill me. I just wanted to go home. Please, just let me go home. I don't want to be locked away."

"Mr. Valentine? Mr. Valentine, it's all right. Here." She shoved a box of tissues towards him, but he ignored them. "Mr. Valentine, no one's going to take you anywhere."

"I didn't know she would… I just wanted to make Lucrecia happy. She asked me to. Fuck, I killed Lucrecia… Why did she have to want to die?"

"Mr. Valentine, how much of this was a dream?"

"Just… I saw Lucrecia and she was in some cave with ice everywhere and she was asking me to help her. She said she was in pain and there wasn't anything powerful enough to kill her but my Death Penalty—my gun.

"She gave it to me a long time ago. She was hiding and she said the Jenova in her wouldn't let her die. I thought she was dead. I thought… I yelled at Hojo because I thought he'd killed her.

"She was just her asking for help, and then I'm not at home with Cid anymore. I'm in the snow and I don't know how I got there. I… I started climbing up to a cave and when I wondered what I was doing, the dream came back and then I'm in the cave and Lucrecia's there.

"She's covered in Jenova stuff and she says she needs help. She asked me to. It was Lucrecia, I couldn't… she said she was in pain. I couldn't let Lucrecia be in pain, even if it meant she wanted to die. I failed her before.

"Then it was Jenova. I'd killed Lucrecia… I killed Lucrecia and Jenova has her. She should be in peace, she shouldn't be some alien's toy or… or hurt me anymore."

Dr. Hayes waited for a minute before asking her next question. "The dream was just when you were going to her, correct?"

Vincent nodded. "Then Jenova tried to kill me. I set Jenova free. I killed Lucrecia and set Jenova free."

"You said you failed her and that you confronted Hojo for her. How did you fail her? Did you know her previously?"

"I… I loved her. I loved her so much. But she liked Hojo and they were married soon and all I could do was watch them. They were so happy; she was so in love. Even he was smiling and… nicer.

"Then… Then he wanted to… to use her in an experiment. He wanted to use Jenova cells. I really didn't know the details, but I couldn't stand the thought of her… of anyone being an experiment. She was a human. Hell, I loved her, too. Neither of them stopped it and then… one day… I heard she died. I couldn't save her. I couldn't save her from him. I was so mad I ran into the lab and started screaming… and he shot me. He just looked at me like he usually did when I yelled at him… like he just wanted me to shut up. But then he had this weird expression, like I was suddenly something really interesting and then I'm strapped to a table."

"You said she told you Jenova wouldn't let her die, though."

"I thought she was dead. Everyone else heard she was dead. I saw her, later. She was hiding. She said Jenova wouldn't let her die, but later that that was all she wanted. I reached to her, but she didn't want me to touch her.

"This is what her husband did to me. The man she loved did this to me and… and… and she hated me. She didn't want me to touch her. Then she left. We didn't see her anywhere outside and we went back inside. She left me the Death Penalty.

"She's finally dead and I killed her."

"Were you ever in control of anything—what you were doing, what you saw—when Jenova tried to take over?"

"No."

"And you've never had dreams like that before?"

"I had a night terror once," Vincent said blankly, looking at his arm, wishing he could put his prosthetic on again.

"I read about that. No, that doesn't seem to fit. Do you remember the dream you had?"

"No."

"But you remember the dream about Lucrecia?"

"Yes. Vividly. I can tell you where she had ice on her, which eye was scarred and what the Jenova looked like."

"Then I don't think those dreams were your doing. Did anyone else you know of ever try to hurt you?"

"Not me personally. I did defend some Shinra projects."

"Outside of battle, have you ever tried to hurt anyone else? Or yourself?"

"Once. Myself. I don't feel that way anymore."

"Do you know you bit four people? You also injured three others throwing something."

"I'm sorry."

"No, Mr., Valentine, you're not here to apologize; I just wanted to know why you did that. You said you didn't intend to hurt anyone else. Did you have flashbacks?"

"Yes. Everything reminded me of being stuck in that lab. All the needles and IVs, the drugs especially, and the vomit."

"Did you ever bite Dr. Hojo in defense?"

"I couldn't. I was always drugged and defenseless and all I could do was lie there and drool while he did stuff. I just… reacted because I could. I couldn't do anything back then."

"Do you know what caused the panic attacks you had?"

"Everything…?"

"You didn't seem to have any attacks when you're friends were with you."

"I was always alone in the lab. Except for Hojo."

"What's your relationship with them?"

"Cid and I… are together. Shera lives with us. He's really a nice guy. I think the doctors told him to stop smoking, so he's a bit pissed. More than usual, I mean."

"He's always mad?"

"Only at the doctors."

"He seems very worried about you. There aren't any problems between you two?"

"He thinks I'm mopey and should cheer up."

"Sounds like he's just concerned about you."

"He doesn't think I'm insane, does he? He told me I'm not, but… but I don't want him to leave me."

"Someone who insisted you didn't need a psychiatrist wouldn't think you're insane. Why do you keep bringing that up?"

"Because I don't want to be insane," Vincent said, again bursting into tears. "I… I don't feel sane all the time. I feel like I'm losing it, or think that maybe I've already lost it. And then… and then I have nightmares.

"I'm screaming and crying. I don't want to go anywhere and all I want is Cid. But no one understands and they don't listen. There's a doctor trying to talk to me, saying things aren't real and he doesn't know what I'm screaming about and that it won't hurt. There's a nurse taking off my clothes and changing me into a white gown with no buttons or zippers or anything I can choke on.

"No one comes, no matter who I'm screaming for. All I'm screaming about is that I don't want to go anywhere and that I'm scared and no one listens. I just want to go home but all they have for me are restraints and needles and wires.

"I don't want to be insane. I don't want to be alone and I don't want to be locked up. I'm not the one who's insane. Hojo is. He is, he did all this to me. It hurt! He's the one who's insane! …Isn't he?"


	15. Chapter 15

"I said, 'no strenuous activity'!" the doctor yelled.

"Define 'strenuous!'" Shera yelled back.

Cid wasn't much louder than usual, but he was certainly angry and exercising part of his vocabulary that he seemed rather proud of. It was very distracting and hard to hear over.

The doctor lead Shera a few feet away.

"Define 'strenuous'," she said. "That is what you said, right?"

"Keep him off that knee for a few months. Nothing too physical. And nothing too strenuous for his lungs."

"So he and Cid…"

"Yeah, they can resume whatever relationship they have once Vincent's ready. I'd say that would be a great idea. If he's not too traumatized by it, it's been known to help people with anxiety.

"Just make sure he takes all those pills I prescribed and follows the directions. He's still going to feel pretty sick on the antibiotics and don't start him on the antidepressants until he's off them. And don't let him stop taking either of them, no matter what. And you know to call me if that Jenova starts anything, no matter what happens."

Shera nodded and went back to get her purse.

"—And I still say—Hey, don't you call me that! Just because you do some sort of fancy-shmancy volunteer act and make things suddenly out of my hands, does not give you the right to run his life! Hey, I'm talking to you, don't put me on hold!"

Shera sighed, looking at the long checklist of complicated things she'd have to get from the pharmacy. Poor Vincent, being on so many drugs again. Some of these might be for the rest of his life, too. At least Cid had stopped swearing.

"Goddamnit, Reeve! First you put him in therapy and scare him shitless—I am NOT kidding—then you give me this fucking run-around. If I ever see you, I am going to kick you in the nuts so hard—I'll call you back. This isn't over!"

Vincent came running down the hall, smacked right into Cid, and started crying again.

"Holy fuck! You okay?" Cid asked, putting a hand through Vincent's hair.

Vincent nodded.

"Come on," Cid said, picking up Vincent and carrying him. "I don't want you spending another minute in here. I see another doctor on you and I'm giving him a black eye."

"Cid, they fixed my knee, I think I can walk on my own."

"Hey, I want to do this while I'm young, and have someone to do it with," Cid said.

"Just watch the doorways," Vincent said, and smiled. He wasn't crying anymore.


	16. Chapter 16

Vincent fell asleep one the way home.

Despite everyone's best intentions, things seemed to be worse at home.

The first thing Cid did was pick up the medicine at the pharmacy and apologize for sticking Shera with watching Vincent so often. The first thing Shera did was throw away all of Cid's cigarettes and dump the beer down the sink, having decided everyone was going to follow the diet the doctors had put Vincent on. The first thing Vincent did, after a very long nap and help putting his arm back on, was vomit, blame himself, and then go back to sleep.

That—plus refusing pain pills and, half the time it was offered, food—was all Vincent did for the next week. The doctors wanted him on antibiotics for an extra week, thanks to the notes on how his arm has been surprisingly vulnerable. He was on two different antibiotics, both of which had him vomiting nearly the entire time he was awake. Cid was wondering what the point of giving them to him was when he didn't seem to keep them down long enough to work.

Vincent stayed in bed and did little more than brood and sleep; Cid was sure he did both most of the time.

He wasn't happy with the pills. He wasn't happy with throwing up. He never said anything, but Shera insisted she and Cid take turns taking care of him thanks to the looks he was shooting both of them.

Cid could deal with the looks, as well as the silence, and being spit up on, but once Vincent called him Hojo in his sleep, Cid moved to the couch. Shera had no problem with it, but insisted Cid wear more than just underwear. Vincent stopped talking.

Shera and Cid quietly argued over who had it worse and whom he needed more; Vincent silently listened to them and worried about the fact that the doctors were working him off Valium.

He just wanted the pills to stop. He just wanted to stop throwing up. He just wanted to stop ruining things for everyone.

He just wanted Cid.

He just wanted to be normal, and constantly wondered why he couldn't be.


End file.
